


Eight Lights, Eight Years

by knitbelove (ladymac111)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Drabble Sequence, Hanukkah, Implied Sexual Content, Jewish Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/knitbelove
Summary: Baz has always liked Hanukkah: the candles, the singing, the food. The tradition and the power of the words stay with him as his life changes now that Simon Snow is in it.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, background penelope bunce/shepard
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	1. 25 Kislev 5776

**Author's Note:**

> A series of eight increasing drabbles, one for each night of Hanukkah! We begin during the team's 8th year at Watford in the Hebrew year 5776 (when Hanukkah started on December 6th, before Things Went Down) and continue every year, through my other fics if you care for context (though some of those things (ahem, Blizzard) were jossed with WS, oh well, so I'm ignoring that and making THIS canon-compliant so far).
> 
> My headcanon for this is that Baz's paternal grandmother was (is?) Jewish, so he grew up with some of the traditions, and being that the Grimms are fire mages it makes complete sense to me that they'd be really into Hanukkah even if they're otherwise not observant in the least (much like my family, we just like burning things and eating potatoes). His affinity for languages, the power of his families, and the Jewish concept of G-d being The Word fit together quite nicely, I find - Baz is excellent at using words to invoke power, and there's such a deep connection with the Torah in that parallel. I could write a dissertation and I don't even know that much.
> 
> Baz POV, rated T for some cussin' and implied (fade-to-black) sexytimes.

There's a small parcel on my bed when I get into the room. Bunce is here too (snakes help me, I've got used to that) and looks at me over her glasses. "Early Christmas present?"

I drop my bookbag on my chair. "Where's Snow?"

"Out. Why'd your dad send a package?"

Why  _ did  _ my father send a package? "Give it here."

I tear the tape with my letter opener, and find several bags of chocolate coins and a card.

Bunce is curious. "What is it?"

I toss her some chocolates, which she drops out of surprise. "First night of Hanukkah."


	2. 26 Kislev 5777

"Ooh, you brought rich people food," Simon says, taking the bag from me as soon as I'm in his door.

"Hardly rich people food," I say. "Latkes. Tonight is the second night of Hanukkah, so mum sent me home with some for you."

He looks up at me from the container of fried shredded potatoes. "Hanukkah? But your family does Christmas, I was there last year. You were there just now."

"We do both, sort of. I actually forgot when Hanukkah was this year, I'm a rubbish Jew."

He laughs. "You're a rubbish boyfriend, too. Didn't invite me to your house for the holiday."

I raise an eyebrow. "I rather think my father might have forbidden it. You're treyf, Simon Snow, after last year."

"I'm what?"

"Treyf. Not kosher."

He scoffs. "Of course you speak Jewish too. They don't even teach that at Watford."

"I don't speak Hebrew, I just know a few phrases."

"You and your talented tongue." He kisses me; it's much too good.

I pull off him with a smack. "Don't you want latkes?"

He shakes his head and kisses me again, pulls me towards the couch. "After I get my Christmas snog from my rubbish boyfriend."


	3. 27 Kislev 5778

Simon Snow is lying in my arms. In my bed, in my flat, dozing sweetly.

This year has been hellacious. That we're still here and, miracle of miracles, still _us_ , still seems like a fever dream sometimes.

The sun has set, and we didn't turn on the light in here when we stumbled in and took each other's clothes off. I kiss his hair. "Simon."

"Hm."

"Get off my arm, love, I want to get up and light the candles."

"What candles? Doesn't your aunt not like you having fire in here when she's out?"

I give him a gentle sneer. "Hanukkah candles, you goyische disaster."

He chuckles a little and rolls away from me, sits up and stretches his wings. "I didn't think the Pitches were Jewish."

"They're not, it's on my father's side. But Fiona gave me the menorah since I won't be going home until Christmas."

"Aww, she likes you."

I grin and turn on the lamp on my bedside table. His wings glow red in the light and I'm reminded of a book that Bubbe read to me as a child, _Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins._ I was never sure if it had been written by a mage, or a very imaginative Normal.

Simon's up now, trying to extract his pants from his jeans. I enjoy my view of his arse until he succeeds and pulls them on, then fish a clean pair of mine out of the drawer. "You want to stay tonight?" I ask, trying to sound casual instead of desperately tender.

He glances at me over his shoulder with a soft smile. "I would, but I've got class in the morning, and this late in the term I can't afford to fuck it up by having a lie-in with my sexy boyfriend."


	4. 28 Kislev 5779

I don't think I've ever eaten so many latkes in my entire life. I think I've actually got a food baby situation going on, and I might need to unbutton my trousers to take the pressure off.

By the looks of it, Snow and Bunce are in a similar situation, but none of us are complaining. We're sprawled out on my aunt's couch, all tangled up in one another, while Shep is sat on the floor with a glass of wine while he noodles with a dreidel. It doesn't work well on carpet.

I've got my head in Simon's lap, and his stomach gives an impressive gurgle. "Oof," he grunts, almost too quiet to hear.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "All right there?"

He giggles. "I don't remember the last time I was this stuffed."

"Those were incredible latkes, Simon," Penelope says from somewhere near my knees. "Couldn't even tell that you grated your knuckles."

Simon growls, but it's playful. "I didn't even bleed."

"'S true," I agree. "You burnt them, though."

"Only the first two batches."

They weren't the best latkes I've ever had, but that Simon made them means they were still my favourites.

"With sour cream you couldn't really tell," Shep says.

"You heathen," I groan, draping an arm dramatically across my face. "Apple sauce or go home."

"Porque no los dos?" he laughs, and Penny giggles. Crowley, she's really got it bad for him. I fully expect they'll move in together once she graduates from uni in the spring; Simon and I have begun discussing the same. We haven't lived together for three years now, and I miss it more every day. I can't wait to have a flat with him, to come home to him every day, to know that I get to sleep next to him every night.

Simon sets his hand on my head, and I sigh contentedly. I wonder if he knows what I've been thinking about.

I move my arm to look up at him; my menorah is still burning merrily behind his head, in the window; his curls are glowing like a halo. He's smiling beatifically down at me and my poor heart almost can't take it.

_ I love you,  _ I mouth at him, so Bunce won't hear. This is just for him.

He beams.  _ Love you too. _ His lips and tongue are so delicious…. "Happy Hanukkah, Baz."


	5. 29 Kislev 5780

I'm fucking exhausted. This law school thing is kicking my arse into the next dimension, and even though Simon and I are both on a break from school for Christmas (thank fucking _god_ , to be Normal about it) we don't really get to relax because as always, Father insists that I come home and be with the family.

It doesn't feel like home, not really. It's Oxford now instead of Hampshire, and although I was here frequently as a child and in summers, it's never felt right.

This is Simon's second Christmas with us, not counting the disaster one. His second Christmas here as my boyfriend. Father can't quite seem to act like a normal human being around him, though Daphne is being her usual lovely self. And of course my sisters are just being kids, but even little Theodosia clearly understands that Simon and I love each other. She's five now and thinks the funniest game is to catch us kissing. (I spell the bedroom door at night so she can't catch anything else.)

The one thing making it bearable (besides having Simon here) is that this week is also Hanukkah. It's never been a huge production, but Bubbe taught me the blessing when I was a child, and I've taught my sisters, and since we're all here we take turns singing and lighting the candles. Mordelia can control her magic enough now to actually cast the spell, that makes them burn without using any wax.

Tonight's the fifth night, and with Christmas behind us, the little ones are interested in the menorah once the sun sets. (I think they're also interested in destroying Simon at dreidel and winning some more of the chocolates he brought for them, but Mum says they can't do that until after supper.) Mordelia sings beautifully and lights the five flames.

It's clear out tonight, and not terribly cold. Simon bundles us up and we go outside, where the glow of the menorah is flickering on the dead grass. He lies on the ground, and I join him, resting my head on his shoulder and cuddling close to get any whiff of his warmth that I can.

He breathes deeply, and I can see his exhale puffing in the air. "Lovely tonight," he says.

It's a bit too cold for my liking. "The stars sure are bright."

He tightens his arm around me, rubbing my shoulder in an affectionate way. "First time I really saw the stars was with you."

I remember that night; I'll never forget it. "I clearly made an impression."

He chuckles. "Yeah. I think I was done for as soon as you cast that rhyme, who else would ever bring me the stars like that?"

"I didn't even know what would happen," I murmur. "All I knew was I loved you and you were right there, and your _magic_ …. I was too overwhelmed to think."

He rolls into me, and his eyes twinkle with starlight before he kisses me reverently.


	6. 30 Kislev 5781

Simon has been at home for two weeks. Currently he’s curled up on our couch with his work laptop, a box of tissues, and two empty mugs.

He came down ill in early December, and after spending three days doing little but sleeping and coughing he finally made it to a doctor: he's got the flu. Apparently only a mild case, since he got his jab back in October, but they still gave him medication for his lungs. It’s been a week and he's still coughing horribly; I don't know how long it's supposed to take to start working but he actually sounds worse than before. I wish he'd let me cast something for him, but we've already fought about that twice this week and my depression is getting bad recently so I'm not going to push it.

"Can I claim you as a dependent on my taxes now?" His voice is deep and rough, almost hoarse. "You're unemployed and I think we might be common-law married."

I look up from my phone. "What?"

"Taxes. You know, paying the Queen for living here."

I snicker, and he gives me a grin. "Why are you thinking about taxes?"

"Reminder from work about payroll stuff, I can make changes in January. So am I claiming you?"

"What did you say about marriage? England doesn’t do common-law.”

"Well, tell your dad I'm claiming you on my taxes, he doesn't need the deduction but I do."

"Taxation is theft, anyway."

Simon bristles. "Taxing your lot is how I survived childhood, and how I got treated for this fucking flu, so you can shut your prick mouth about it. If more of you were decent about it maybe I wouldn't know what it feels like to starve."

"Taxing my family won't end poverty, Snow."

"Not you alone, git. Are you really that dense about this? I thought you'd be more invested in tikkun olam during your holiday."

I flush with anger because he's right, and he's being a wanker on purpose, and my reflex is to hit back. "How the hell do you know about tikkun olam?"

He looks entirely too pleased with himself -- he got me good enough to get a rise out of me. "Becca taught me about Judaism, a bit."

I sneer. " _You_ go fix the world, Chosen One. I'm going to keep trying to keep my family safe."

He laughs, but it's more of a deep chesty cough. "You're such a drama queen. And you can do both." He leans over and kisses my cheek, then closes his laptop and untangles himself from his blanket nest. "It's already dark. Why don't you light your menorah and I'll heat up dinner."

I grumble, but I do it. I would have to have fallen in love with a bleeding socialist, wouldn't I? But he's absolutely right about tikkun olam: I can't fix everything myself, but I'm not free to opt out of the work either. Simon needs the tax deduction, and my father can afford to pay a bit more. I'm no great lover of the NHS, bureaucratic nightmare that it is, but Shep never stops talking about how much better it is than America's nonsense. I suppose I can do this one thing, even if it means arguing with my father about money which always gets him royally pissed off.

I sigh as I click my fingers to light the shamash. I'm here, I'm alive, and Simon is starting to feel better too. He loves me, even though I’m a Tory prat. It’s worth saying a blessing for.

" **Baruch ata Adonai…**."


	7. Rosh Hodesh Tevet 5782

"Oy vey," I mumble under my breath, regarding the drink in my hand. "Is yours any good?"

Simon shrugs, taking another sip of his lager. I scowl at my wine -- it tastes awful. And I'll definitely need alcohol to at least partially enjoy this, but now I'm afraid to try any of the other wine offerings. I really should have expected this from an office Christmas party, I suppose.

I sigh and watch Simon look around the room. I don't know anyone here, of course, and I've no idea who he's looking for. I feel like we've greeted everyone already, and I don't remember any of the introductions. They all know me: _Simon's handsome bloke_. He got one of our wedding photos printed as soon as we got back from our honeymoon, and it seems like he's been showing it off to everyone at the office.

Finally his face lights up. "Miranda just got here," he says. "She's Kevin's assistant, and she's one of us. She's related to the Wellbeloves and she's dying to meet you."

"Delightful." I try not to sound sour, but I know I'm not successful when Simon gives me a look.

"Are you going to be nice tonight? I care about these people."

I sigh, and try to set aside my petulance. "I know, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to play the new bride arm candy or anything, but I'd like if you could find it in you to have a little fun. At least not be a grouch." He touches my cheek. "Bit down, are you?"

I nod. I was feeling good when I lit my menorah earlier this evening at home, but when the candles burned out my mood sank. It's too early in the month for Christmas, anyway; I like things like this to be more properly seasonal.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. He smells like beer. "Tell you what, Miranda helped organize all of this. I bet she could help you find something to drink that isn't shite."

I snort a little laugh, and I feel sarcastic but he did manage to cheer me up a tiny bit. "Worth a try."

He smiles. "There you go." He kisses me again, on the corner of my mouth this time, and then takes my hand and leads me towards the bar where a slim blonde woman is chatting with an older man in a suit.

"Simon!" the older man says, and Simon shakes his hand.

"Evening, Kevin. This is my husband Basil. Baz, our big boss."

I shake his hand as well, and he seems genuinely pleased to meet me. "Charmed," I say, trying to be just as my stepmother taught me.

"And Miranda," Simon says, indicating the blonde woman. 

"Lovely to finally meet you, Baz."

She does actually look familiar. "Pleasure," I say.

"Simon doesn't stop talking about you," she says with a sparkle in her eye, and Simon goes pink.

Kevin laughs. "You still feel like newlyweds, do you?"

I slip my arm around Simon's waist and brush my nose in his curls to disguise exactly how much I'm smiling.

"Well, uh," he stammers. "We are still newlyweds, aren't we?"

"Oh, for certain," Miranda says. "For the first year, at least."

Simon wraps his arm around me, and twists his fingers just a bit in the hem of my jumper. "I think I could do with keeping the newlywed feeling longer, you think?"

I chuckle. "Since when can I tell you what to do?"

Kevin and Miranda seem to like that. "If I can ask," Kevin says, "how long have you been together?"

"Since school," Simon replies easily, and I suppose he's been fielding this question for a while in his professional life. In his so-called Normal life. "Known each other since we were kids, but I finally figured out I fancied him when we were eighteen. Worked out well, I think."

What a way to skim over _everything_. Miranda is watching with her eyebrows raised and I can tell she's thinking about what he skipped -- the Mage, the Chosen One, the Heir of Pitch. It's odd to be _seen_ like this.


	8. 2 Tevet 5782

If I was remotely heterosexual, I think tonight I could fall in love with Penelope Bunce.

As it is, I absolutely understand what Shep sees in her. She’s recently grown into herself, just like Simon has; now when I look at her I see a radiant woman, a woman I’m proud to call my sister in every way that really matters.

I’m prouder than ever, now that she’s expecting a baby. She’s just far enough along that it’s showing, and she carries herself with such  _ power  _ that you could tell even if her belly wasn’t rounding out.

She’s acting drunk in our kitchen right now, laughing with Simon while he and Shep drink wine. (Good wine, I’d never deign to serve Kedem.) I’ve got blood right now since alcohol fucks with my moods in winter, but I may have a glass later. Or I might have some of the apple juice that Penny brought.

The whole flat smells like frying potatoes, and it’s heavenly. Simon is cooking, our friends are here, I lit my menorah half an hour ago - all eight candles, blazing bright in the little window above our table. And it’s Boxing Day, so we’re all relaxed from having the time off work for Christmas. I actually had a really nice time with my family in Oxfordshire the past two days, it's spectacular how they’ve all accepted Simon as one of us now that he’s been my husband for a year.

_ My husband! _

I fidget with my wedding ring while I watch him tell the story I’ve already heard four times about the weird malware he found on someone’s computer at work. He’s so alive, so happy talking about the Normal thing he did two weeks ago at his Normal job where he earns a Normal paycheque to support my postgraduate education habit. He’s really come together as a person in the past year or so, and the amount of love that he’s been throwing at me now that he’s sure of himself is  _ staggering _ .

Eight years ago I’d have died if he hadn’t kissed me.

Simon Snow has saved my life so many times, in so many ways. He’s an absolute miracle. He burns so brightly, and even though he’s almost gone out a few Earth-shattering times, he’s always come back. 

He catches my eye and beams. "Baz! Come join the party over here, the first batch of latkes are almost done and you have to tell me if I got them right."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but I let him see me smiling as I get up from the couch. "So demanding."

"You like it."

"Ugh," Penny scoffs. "Disgusting."

Simon laughs and catches my belt loop to pull me close. I lean in to kiss him.

"Careful," he grins as I try to wrap my arms around him. "The oil is splattering."

I wrinkle my nose and back up. "You gonna be the one to clean that up?"

"We can fight about it later."

Penny laughs. "Let's do a toast, since Basil finally joined us."

"Cheers," Shep says, extending his glass. "To all of us being together."

"To found family," Penny adds.

"And family we made ourselves," Simon says.

"To surviving and thriving," I finish.

We clink our glasses and drink -- Penny her apple juice, and me my blood. Only our husbands have alcohol tonight. She catches my eye and smirks. "I see you watching me, Pitch."

I lean in and kiss her temple. "Maybe I'm jealous."

"Of my juice?"

Oh, so she's making me say it. I wrap my arm around her waist. "Of your family."

"Planning on having a sproglet of your own?"

Simon glances at us over his shoulder as he takes the first latke out of the oil, and he's blushing. I'm so full of love I can barely stand it. "Eventually."

"Don't go promising to make her an aunt yet," Simon says gruffly.

Penny grins. "You'll both be incredible fathers."

"I think so," I say, watching Simon fondly as he takes more potatoes off the heat.

"Never mind that right now," he says -- I've embarrassed him. Normally this talk of starting our own family is private, but we don't have secrets with Penny and Shep. "Come taste one of these, love. Tell me if it's right."

He knows as well as I do if they're right, but I'll pretend to be the expert. I suppose of the four of us I'm the only Jewish one, so they won't contradict me.

I accept the piece he broke off; it's almost too hot to eat. It's spectacular.

"Well?"

"Decent."

"Good enough to celebrate  _ they didn't fucking kill us again _ week?"

I let myself laugh and pick up the rest of the latke. "Yes, worth defeating the Greeks over. Where's the applesauce?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! I adore comments and feel free to come talk to me on Tumblr where I'm also knitbelove.


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